WHY
by dayflow
Summary: "Why, why, why, why, WHY!" Draco angrily thought to himself. "Why did I kiss Hermione Granger?" Dramione, Post-War, series compliant, guest starring Pansy Parkinson


Disclaimer: not mine, never will be. please don't sue.

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><p>Draco Malfoy stormed from his fireplace into his home. He went straight for the bar and poured himself a firewhiskey. He immediately downed it, the amber liquid burning his throat. He poured and drank another. And another. Again. Until he finally stopped and plopped himself down on the sofa, slamming the bottle and glass on the coffee table before him.<p>

"Why, why, why, why, WHY!" he angrily thought to himself. "Merlin's beard, what's wrong with me?"

Draco wrenched off his tie and undid his shirt buttons, exposing his collarbone and pale chest. Next, his cuffs, rolling up the sleeves. Finally, he kicked off his shoes and took another drink before sinking further into the couch, head tilted back. With his left hand, he brushed his blonde hair out of his eyes and stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out WHY.

"Why did I kiss Hermione Granger?"

-x-x-x-x-

He doesn't know when it started. After the war perhaps. The Malfoy's were still rich, but not as influential and powerful as they once were. Still respected, but not feared. The world was changing. And they had to change with it.

At social functions, Draco was civil, well mannered, polite. He'd been raised to observe the niceties of society. But society nowadays included those that were beneath him; blood traitors and mudbloods and those of that ilk. He had to admit though, the peaceful new world was a lot nicer than the violent dark one of war. It was because of these people that the world was a better place. He slowly learned to respect, even begrudgingly admire, them for that.

He'd search for Potter and Granger at parties. Their eyes would meet. They'd share a curt nod, acknowledging each other, before moving back to whatever they were doing. He wouldn't look for the Weasel though. The one time he tried, the bloody git had sneered at him. Him! Never again.

He heard they were dating, Granger and the Weasel. This infuriated Draco, but he didn't know why. "How thick can she be?" he thought. "He's a rude, foul-mouthed, uncouth prat! And she's… Granger. She may be muggleborn, but she's intelligent. She should know that weasel is beneath her."

-x-x-x-x-

It's nightfall now, and he's still staring at the ceiling. Draco gave up on the glass and drank directly from the bottle. He still hadn't figured out WHY.

"Why did I kiss Hermione Granger?"

-x-x-x-x-

Draco was in Florish and Blotts, browsing for a gift for his mother when he saw her. Granger. She was holding a book in one hand and browsing through another. Her forehead was screwed up in concentration and she chewed on her lower lip, obviously trying to decide which one to buy. Sunlight from the windows above shined down on her. She looked enchanting and angelic, with glints of lights sparkling on her eyes, face, hands, lips…

Instinct took over and he suddenly had to kiss her; to mark her as his own.

"Oh! Malfoy, you startled me. What-" Draco interrupted her with a rough kiss, grabbing her head and pushing her against the bookshelves that lined the walls. Taking advantage of her surprise, he sucked on her lush lower lip before darting his tongue into her mouth. When his met hers, she whimpered and surrendered to his kiss, melting against him.

He didn't understand how, but their kiss became both tender and passionate at the same time. His hands, before brusquely holding her in place, slackened and turned to gently cradle her head, run through her soft hair, down her back, and finally settled at her waist. He pulled her softly pliant body closer so they were touching from head to toe.

"She smells like vanilla," he thought. "She tastes like strawberries." Draco tucked these facts away into his mind, idly wondering if the strawberries she must have had at lunch were why her lips were so red and juicy.

He slowly broke away from her mouth and began to plant small kisses along her jaw line. He nipped at her earlobe. Lightly nuzzled her neck. Then he returned to savor her mouth once more.

But something was wrong. She wouldn't grant him access and he finally noticed that she was stiff against him, her arms pushing against his chest.

"Please stop Draco," she whispered.

He looked down at Granger's face before him and saw angry tears in her eyes. "She's always worn her heart on her sleeve," he thought, reading her like a book. He saw her resentment at him, for forcing her to feel something she shouldn't; her guilt for betraying the Weasel; but mostly her anger and shame at herself for enjoying his kiss.

He slowly released her. Took one step backward, then another, drinking in the vision of messy brown hair and tear-filled eyes, before he turned without a word and ran out of the store.

-x-x-x-x-

It's almost midnight and Draco's still on the couch, nursing his second bottle of firewhiskey. The fireplace flames suddenly turned green. He watched as Pansy Parkinson ran into the room and launched herself at him. She started crying into his chest.

"Dammit Pans! I'm too drunk to deal with you right now," he thought to himself, trying to push her away. But she continued to cling and cry and talk and talk and talk. It was the same old thing, another jerk boyfriend had hurt her and she had run back to Draco to vent and cry and find comfort in his arms.

When Pansy's tears finally subsided, when her voice finally stopped, her hands started to roam under his open shirt and her head turned toward him to nuzzle his neck. She moved to straddle his lap and wrap her arms around him before she started to kiss him.

And because he was drunk; he was tired; because they always used each other when they didn't want to be alone, and he was so alone right now, Draco let her have her way with him.

He could smell the sweet smoke from the club she'd been at. He could taste the fruity drinks she'd had. See her tousled, black hair and tear-streaked face.

And he remembered the woman he kissed earlier that day, with her sweet vanilla smell… strawberry lips… soft brown hair…tear-stained eyes… still holding books in her hands… the Weasel's ring shining on her finger…

And he remembered their kiss and how it was nothing like this cold, empty, shallow, automatic response. Their kiss was soft, warm and full of life. He'd wanted that kiss to last forever. He didn't want to taint his memory of perfection with this _thing_ that was happening now.

With a sudden rush of energy, Draco shoved Pansy off him. She fell off the sofa and onto the floor next to the coffee table. "What the hell, Dray!" she yelled.

"Sod off Pans, I'm not in the mood for this," he replied, dismissing her with his hand.

She pulled herself off the floor, grabbed his bottle of firewhiskey and took a swig. "That's never stopped you before," she snapped at him.

He snarled back at her, "I'm not into pity fucks anymore."

He never saw the slap coming. But he sure as hell felt its sting on his now red cheek.

"You're an arse, Draco Malfoy," she coldly stated, before she headed for his fireplace and floo'd herself away.

-x-x-x-x-

Draco grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey and threw it at the fireplace. It hit the mantle and shattered into hundreds of glittery shards, showering the carpet before him. With his head in his hands, he rocked back and forth on the edge of the couch, mourning the loss of Hermione Granger. Only by comparing her with Pansy did he realize that Hermione was different from all the other girls in his past. She was special… pure… alive… she was perfect in every possible way…

He knew now why he kissed her. He had finally realized that he really, truly, loved her…

And she would never be his. Hermione had married the Weasel.


End file.
